


Somewhat damaged

by Trash



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mentions of Suicide, and drugs obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 17:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17471510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: It’s the asscrack of dawn, and Jesse is asleep in Saul’s doorway.





	Somewhat damaged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JenniferNapier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferNapier/gifts).



> Set post “Phoenix”.

It’s early when he gets to the office. Or not, really. Early for Saul in any case, because that early-bird-gets-the-worm bullshit can blow him. 

The point is - it’s not even eight. And the Monday morning streets are a biohazard generally, but this early there’s a definite risk to his health. Especially when he crosses the lot and spots the person lying curled up in the doorway of his office. 

From a distance their dark clothes make them look like a puddle. An oil spill. Up close it’s Jesse. 

Saul looks down at him, then around the lot uneasily. “Jeez,” he murmurs, rubs a hand across his face. “Kid.” No response. He digs his toe into the middle of Jesse’s hoodie, aiming for something soft. “Hey, sleeping beauty.”

Jesse startles with the kick, and starts scrambling to his feet but falls, lands heavily on all fours, tries again. “The fuck, man? That’s fucking assault, s’what that is.” He dusts himself off, rubs his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

“Not really. Anyway, you’re the one breaking the quality of life law.”

“Fuck’s that?”

“You’re ruining my quality of life by sleeping in my doorway, that’s what. Move your keister.” 

Jesse steps aside, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and scuffing his feet back and forth as Saul unlocks the door. And okay, the kid is a pain in the ass, but Saul isn’t heartless. Holding open the door he glances back at Jesse. “You coming in?”

“Uh-“

“Stop playing hard to get, it doesn’t suit you.” Saul turns away and heads inside, flicking on the lights on his way to the kitchen. He’s dumping a third sugar in his coffee mug when Jesse materialises behind him, causing him to drop the spoon and make a noise that can only be described as a yelp. 

Jesse raises an eyebrow. “Yo, I’m not a threat to you.”

Saul clutches his chest. “Just. Let’s. Wait til my heart restarts. Creeper. Jesus.” 

Jesse smirks and bends down to pick up the spoon, wiping it off on his hoodie and putting it in Saul’s mug. He stirs it quickly. “How do you have it?”

“Like my men,” Saul says, for no reason that he can think of. This small act of domesticity has him thrown. And although he knows Jesse he doesn’t know him well enough to assume allusions to his sexuality won’t get him punched in the face. 

“Uh-“

“Hot and in endless supply.”

Jesse snorts. “Aight.” He slides the mug along the counter in Saul’s general direction. “Thought you were gonna say black.”

“Not picky,” Saul says. 

Jesse makes a noncommittal noise and leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest. The bravado is as disarming as the coffee making, and Saul clears his throat to try and focus his mind. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to guess?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Calling bullshit on that one, kid.”

Jesse pulls his beanie off and rubs a hand over his head, stuffs the hat in his pocket with a sigh. “I’m. It’s. Hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

Jesse looks like he might make a run for it, doesn’t. “I’m...fuck. I didn’t know where else to go.”

The words feel like a punch in the face. And for the first time in a while Saul sees Jesse for what he is - a kid. One that has fallen through the gaps all his life. One that had found something good (ish) with Jane. And now this. 

There’s tears in his eyes when he finally looks at Saul and shrugs helplessly, sniffs hard and laughs. “Yeah. So. Here I am. It was this or the river.”

“It’s significantly less wet here. Also not sure if you’d die right away if you jumped in a river. It would be a slow death later in hospital from some disgusting, water based parasite that swam up your urethra.”

Jesse stares at him with barely concealed disgust. “Is this a pep talk?”

“Not really. Would you like one? I can tell you about how the world’s just full of undiscovered beauty ready for you to stumble across but you can’t do that if you’re six feet under. Or how the world will be a darker place if it loses your light. But you know that’s all garbage. The world is a shit hole, people are toxic waste, and we are just staggering around on the way to death and insignificance.

“So, throw yourself in a river. Or in front of a semi, or I have a gun in my safe if you have a real flair for the dramatic. Your choice, really. I can’t give you a reason to live other than that for all garbage and toxic waste? You’re good people, kid.”

Jesse is openly crying now, shoulders shaking. “I killed Jane,” he sobs. “How am I good people?”

Saul puts his mug down and plants his hands on Jesse’s shoulders. “You didn’t kill Jane. Circumstances killed Jane. Hate to break it to you, kid, but some people aren’t destined to live happily ever after. And include myself firmly in that group of people.” He doesn’t say it, but he categorises Jesse the same way. 

Jesse shakes his head. “She should have had better. She was going to...she had dreams, yo. We were gonna go live in New Zealand with, like, sheep and shit.”

They have junk in New Zealand too, but Saul doesn’t say that. “Point is, dust to dust. You know? Ashes to ashes.”

“You’d be a fucking awful inspirational speaker,” Jesse manages, stepping out of Saul’s grip and wiping his eyes angrily. “Fuck. Sorry. I shouldn’t have...I should go-“

“Don’t,” Saul says, quicker than he means to. “Stay. If you want,” he tries again, shooting or casual but landing closer to desperate. “Are you clean?”

“Gonna make me piss in a pot?”

“What? No. I’ll trust you if you tell me you’re clean. Against my better judgement, I might add.”

“Clean enough,” Jesse says. He bites his thumbnail, inspects it, wipes it on his hoodie.

“Okay. That’ll do, I guess. Stay, then. Hang out, whatever you want to do. It’s...incredibly fucking dull, but infinitely better than whatever you’ll do if left to your own devices. Contract syphilis from a river somewhere, I expect.”

Jesse laughs, nods. “Okay,” he says. 

“Okay! Great!” Too enthusiastic, tone it down. “I mean, sure. Fine. Sweet. Whatever the kids these days say. Do people still say phat?”

Jesse raises an eyebrow. 

“Guess that’s a no.”

The door to the reception area opens, closes, and Francesca walks in. She looks between them both blankly before fixing her gaze on Saul. “Want some privacy?”

“Want to get fired?”

“Good luck finding someone else who will tolerate your bullshit,” she says, frankly. “You’re in the way.”

Saul steps to the side, inadvertently closer to Jesse, so she can get to the coffee machine. She looks at him despairingly as she pulls out a mug, but doesn’t say anything.

“Let’s go to my office,” Saul says, putting a hand onto Jesse’s shoulder. Francesca looks at them, at his hand, and he removes it as if he’s been burned. 

“How old are you, Pinkman?” Francesca asks, stirring her coffee. 

“Twenty four.”

“Hmm, what’s that? A twenty three year age difference?” 

Saul ushers Jesse our of the kitchen. “Fuck off, Francesca.”

“Use protection, Goodman.”

“What’s she talking about?” Jesse asks. 

Saul frowns, unlocks his office door, says, “You’re a lot more innocent than I give you credit for, kid.”

Jesse settles himself on the couch, glances around. “Got any paper?”

Saul pulls a notepad from his drawer. “Need a pen?”

“Do I look like the kinda person who carries a pen?”

“Fair.” Saul passes him the notebook and pen, sits at his desk and starts pulling out files whilst surreptitiously glancing at Jesse who crosses his legs underneath himself and starts doodling. 

“Yo.”

“Huh?” Eloquent. 

“Thanks,” Jesse says.

Saul nods. “Anytime, kid,” he says. And hopes Jesse knows he means it.


End file.
